Eames was uncertain about a great many things on the ride out to Carmel Ridge. First and foremost, she was questioning her decision to let her partner drive. Her knuckles were white as she clenched the between-seats console and the door, watching him dart haphazardly through traffic. She'd once told him he drove like a fighter pilot. He was reinforcing that image in her mind right now.

Goren glanced at his partner from time to time, and the butterflies in his gut graduated to full fledged bird-of-prey. He couldn't remember ever feeling this nervous, and her uptight frown did not encourage him in any way. This was such a bad idea and he had no clue whatever possessed him to even consider it, much less put it into action. God, he was going to be sick.

When he pulled into a space in the parking lot at Carmel Ridge, Eames breathed a sigh and had to consciously force herself not to fall out of the car and kiss the ground in relief. Goren heard the sigh and misread it. "W-we don't have to do this, Eames."

"Nonsense. I'm glad we're here."

"Really?"

She gave him a warm smile and answered in all sincerity, "Yes, Bobby. Really."

She held out her hand to him. He studied it for a moment, until she said, "It's not dangerous...unless you don't take it..."

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He held her gaze as he let his fingers gently wrap around hers. Her thumb lightly stroked his knuckle and his eyes slid closed. In his mind, he saw her, sitting across from him in the diner they'd stopped at for lunch, stealing a french fry from his plate and laughing as she dragged it through the ketchup on hers. He was silently praying this afternoon wouldn't have too much of a negative impact on their friendship. They had been through a lot, especially over the last year, and he did not want to jeopardize the progress they'd made toward restoring their damaged relationship.

She watched him close his eyes and realized she had no idea what he was thinking. That made her uncertain, and she wanted to reach out to him, to reassure him, but she had no idea how to do that. On impulse, she leaned closer and pressed her lips against his temple. She felt him tremble and she squeezed his hand.

When her lips pressed into his temple, he could not control the tremor that coursed through his body. He didn't know what to make of the gesture and a thousand emotions coursed through him, resisting classification. Her grip on his hand tightened and he managed, "We-we'd better...get going, Eames."

She withdrew and gave his hand another squeeze, getting out of the car. He rested his hands on the steering wheel for a moment before he slid out from behind the wheel and locked up. She met him by the back bumper and looked at him. "It's going to be all right, Bobby." She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. "Come on, now. I'm ready to meet your mother."

"I hope so, Eames. I really do." ...because I certainly am not...

As they headed toward the building, she did not release his hand, and he felt reassured. She was walking into this willingly. He just hoped she would not regret it.

He hesitated before the door he had walked through hundreds of times, uncertain. There was no turning back once he opened this door and crossed the threshold. He felt pressure on his hand as she squeezed it, then released her hold, hoping to set him further at ease. Hoping his brother was not in the room, he knocked and pushed the door open.

Frances was seated on the love seat in front of the window, studying a framed photograph. Looking up, she set the picture aside and frowned at the strange woman who walked into her room. She didn't recognize her and she wondered what new and interesting torture those damn doctors had in store for her today--even here she wasn't completely safe from their clutches...until her son came through the doorway after her. A bright smile lit her face. "Bobby!"

He stepped past Eames and leaned down to give his mother a kiss. She turned her scrutiny toward Eames as he stepped out of her way. "So this is her?"

"Alex, Mom. Her name is Alex, and yes, this is her."

Eames smiled pleasantly. "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Goren."

Frances studied her. "Come over here and sit by me," she said.

Eames did as she asked, meeting Goren's eyes as she walked toward him then lowered herself onto the couch beside his dying mother.

Frances looked past Eames at her son. "Go for a walk, Bobby."

"Ex-excuse me?"

"You heard me. Go for a walk. Alex and I want to talk."

Surprised, he looked at his partner, eyes offering a silent apology. Her expression told him it was all right. Her hand wandered to his, fingers brushing the back of it. The look in his eyes changed and she thought she saw remorse, but she had to be wrong. He stepped away from her and moved to his mother, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Okay, Mom, I'll go for a walk."

As he turned toward the door, he met Eames' eyes for another dose of reassurance. "Bobby," his mother's voice scolded as he turned away to leave the room. "Don't be shy."

"Sh-shy?"

Her eyes darted toward Eames and she waited expectantly. A moment of panic followed the realization of his mother's expectation, and he sought out Eames' eyes once again. Understanding dwelled in their chestnut depths as he moved back around the table and leaned down to kiss her cheek. She expected a quick, embarrassed peck, but, as he did so often, he surprised her. Soft, warm lips pressed against her cheek and lingered for a long moment. His hand cupped her elbow, gently squeezed, and then he stepped away and left the room.

Frances regarded the exchange with quiet reserve. Eames turned toward her once Goren was gone and saw sharp eyes studying her with a familiar intensity. Bobby had not been exaggerating when he told her his mother was intense. "He's a good son," she started. "I suppose I have not appreciated that over the years. He gave up a lot to care for me." She sighed wistfully. "I have no grandchildren, Alex. And I would have loved to have seen my sons' children."

Eames didn't know what to say; she had no idea where this conversation was going. Frances went on. "Once I'm gone, he'll be free to put his time and effort properly into a relationship, a family." She took Alex's hand in hers. "He will have beautiful children."

Alex nodded slowly in agreement. "Yes. Yes, he will."

She reached out and placed a thin finger under Eames' chin, turning her head to study her profile. She slowly nodded and lowered her hand. Eames looked back at her as she said, "And so will you."

A light flush colored her cheeks as visions of childhood photos filled her head, her own features merging with her partner's to produce images of what their children might look like. She chased them away. What was wrong with her? Fantasy, Alex. Never put effort into imagining something like that. It's too painful because it will never happen. He'll never let it.

Frances' voice interrupted her introspection. "How long have you known Bobby?"

"About six years."

"That's a long time for him. Did he tell you about me, about my illness?"

"Yes, he did."

She looked surprised, nodding slowly. "Good. He can be very private. He protects me fiercely. I suppose that's why he never brought you to visit before. He's very sensitive to criticism."

From certain people, yes, he was. It occurred to Eames that sitting in this room were the two most important people in her partner's life. No one meant more to him than they did, and that probably had as much to do with the fact he had never brought them together as anything did. If his mother disapproved of her, it would have placed him in an intolerable situation. It was bad enough for him that she gave him grief about his career, and she imagined he heard about his single status on a regular basis, too. The last thing he needed was to hear grief about her. To him, it had never been worth the risk that his mother would not like her. Now, as her life was drawing to its end and she had asked to meet her, he was reluctantly conceding.

Eames looked directly at the older woman. "Bobby is very important to me, Mrs. Goren. We have been partners for six years, and I would risk my life for his. He would do the same for me. I need you to understand that I will take care of him. You do not have to worry about that. Whether he likes it or not, I will take care of him."

Frances smiled. "A strong woman...you are what I have always told him he needed...a woman not afraid to stand up to him when he needs it. My son can be very stubborn."

Eames returned her smile. "I know. But so can I."

"Before he comes back, there is one more thing I need to know." She studied the younger woman, who was watching her expectantly. She had an open, honest face, which was reassuring. She was a pretty woman, in an understated way...another point in her favor. Bobby didn't need a woman more interested in her appearance than she was in him. She was well-toned and she radiated good health...another plus, she took care of herself. She believed her when she said she would take care of him, too, when he needed it. She reached out and took Eames' hand, an uncharacteristically gentle gesture. Frances was a woman with a dominating personality. She had raised her sons with a firm hand and as much love and affection as her disease would allow. It had been a hard upbringing for them both, she knew. Bobby, however, had it harder than his brother. Bill Goren had not taken as much interest in his younger son, and the attention he gave him was overwhelmingly negative. Bobby never knew how she had protected him. Her hand tightened its grip as she chased away the negative memories. "I love my son, Alex. Do you?"

Eames rested her other hand over Frances' soft, thin one. The door opened as she answered, "Yes. I do."

"You do what?" Goren asked as he came in.

Eames smiled at him. "I do appreciate the fact that you brought me here today," she answered honestly.

Frances squeezed her hand again and released her grip. She reached for the picture she had been looking at when they arrived, holding it out for Eames to see. "Look at them, Alex," she said with pride. "Frank was nine and Bobby was six. Do you remember the time you fell in the river, Bobby?"

He nodded as he sat on the coffee table. "Yes, Mom. I remember."

"Frank got you out."

"Of course he did. He pushed me in and he felt responsible for getting me out."

Frances frowned. "I don't remember that."

"We never told you. Dad was home then and neither of us wanted a beating."

She studied her son. "And when you fell out of the tree and broke your arm?"

He nodded. "That was Frank, too."

"What about when you got hit by the car, when you were in high school?"

"No, that was Lewis. We were goofing off; it was an accident."

She shook a finger at him. "And you were drinking."

He smiled, his eyes warm and bright with amusement. "That's what teenage boys do, Mom," he said.

"And teenage girls," Eames added.

He raised an eyebrow at her, curious. "Why doesn't it surprise me that you caused trouble?"

She returned his smile. "I was hard on my parents," she said with a laugh. "I think I spent my entire junior year of high school sneaking out at night after I was grounded."

"You never did that, Bobby, did you?" Frances asked.

"Of course not, Ma."

Eames choked back a laugh. She knew that expression. He met her eyes, mischief sparkling bright in his. She touched his knee briefly, and he didn't look away until his mother spoke again.

"So, Alex...tell me about your family..."